The Ghost and Killian Jones
by Drowned-dreamer
Summary: SEQUEL TO THE GHOST AND EMMA SWAN. An old and deadly foe threatens Emma and Killian's happiness. Still trying to figure out how the fit into each other's lives, they will face their greatest challenges yet, both from the reaper who has come to set things to right, and from their own fears and insecurities. CS AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- Well, here it is! The long-awaited sequel to The Ghost and Emma Swan. I truly hope this one lives up to its predecessor, as the response and love I received for that story just completely astounded me.**

 **This one will pretty much cover all the points you asked to see: Killian trying to cope in the modern world, Killian and Henry bonding, people learning the truth about his former state of being, Emma and Killian dealing with their issues and pasts, angst, fluff, smut, etc. etc.**

 **One little note: My version of the reaper comes from Dead Like Me. More or less. I may have changed a few little things… But I LOVE that show and really wanted to put some elements of it in here, hence the sticky notes, and a few other tips of the hat you might see later on.**

 **SUMMARY: An old and deadly foe threatens Emma and Killian's happiness. Still trying to figure out how the fit into each other's lives, they will face their greatest challenges yet, both from the reaper who has come to set things to right, and from their own fears and insecurities.**

 **PAIRINGS: Killian and Emma**

 **RATING: M for language, violence, and probably some smutty goodness somewhere along the lines.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters from Once Upon a Time.**

 **Alone (Prologue)**

 _Portland, ME 1992_

 _The little blonde child sat on the curb, scuffing her nearly new tennis shoes into the concrete. They were late picking her up from day care. Again. Why were they always running late?_

 _The tell-tale sound of a motor drew her out of her musings and her head lifted to see the familiar navy blue of the Swan's minivan pulling up to the curb. Little Emma jumped up, snatching her bookbag, already heavily laden with her projects and drawings from school, and raced towards the vehicle. Her tiny five-year-old fingers scrambled for purchase on the door handle and with an exaggerated grunt, she slid the minivan door along the tracks. From the driver's seat, she could hear her foster father's throaty laugh. "Hey there, Wonder Woman! What did you do at day care today?"_

 _Emma threw her bookbag over the seat and turned to shut the door. Using both hands, she pulled it forward with all her might, panting a little for her efforts, and grinning as the door clicked home. Hastily plopping down into the seat, she brushed away the sweaty hair that had spilled out of her ponytail and buckled herself in. "We made pictures of the ocean today!"_

 _Her father grinned at her as he pulled the van out into the road. "Oh? What did you draw?"_

 _"I drew a fishy, and some waves. And a big ship with sails!"_

 _"Well, that sounds really nice, Emma." He chuckled, his voice low and melodic, sounding just as it did when he sometimes read her to sleep. However, today he was quiet, making no other comments, and they rode along in silence while the radio played softly in the background. Suddenly, he sighed, and turned his head to look at her. "Emma, do you know why I was late today?"_

 _Little Emma bit her lip and shook her head. She hadn't been with the Swan's long, but she liked it at their house. They were very kind to her, always buying her nice clothes and new toys. There had even been talking about adopting her. Adopting. As in a real family. Just for her. She had already been given their last name. They had told her that very soon, they would be making it official. Her little heart beat so rapidly at the thought she thought she might explode. An official family._

 _Fidgeting nervously in her seat, she shook her head. Mr. Swan was watching her carefully in his overhead mirror. His normally kind blue eyes today seemed sort of distant. Was something wrong? Had she done something bad? The last thing she wanted to do was cause problems with her potential parents._

 _"Your mother and I," he began, his eyes darting back to watch the road, "went to see a special kind of doctor today."_

 _"Is mommy sick?" Emma cried, a welling up of fear nearly chocking off her words._

 _"No," he assured her. "No, honey. Mommy is just fine. And so am I." His voice suddenly became excited, and she could see in his eyes do that crinkly thing that meant he was happy. Maybe the news wasn't bad after all. "Actually, we're better than fine," he continued, still watching the road and still smiling to himself. "Do you know what the doctor told us?"_

 _Emma shook her head again, clutching at the seat belt and kicking her feet into the base of the seat. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to do that, Mr. Swan hated when she scuffed up his leather seats, but she was too distracted to care. "No."_

 _"She told us that your mommy is pregnant. That we are going to have our own baby."_

 _Looking back a few months later, after the Swans had sent her back to the orphanage, that's when Emma should have seen it. She should have realized the cold, hard truth about herself right then and there. How could she have ever believed she could have been a part of a real family? She wasn't their child, she wasn't their flesh and blood. It never would have worked. After all, her real parents had abandoned her as an infant. They apparently didn't want her either. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she was so defective she didn't deserve a family._

 _Maybe someone like her was just destined to be alone. Forever._

 _…._

This made no sense.

The man turned the little red sticky note over once more in his hands. There it was, clear as day and in the distinctive penmanship the notes were always written in:

 _Killian Jones, Storybrooke, ME_.

No date. No time. And then there was the fact that it was red, not yellow. For two-and-a-half centuries he had been doing this job, he had only received a red letter a handful of times. Therefore, this was not a reaping. This was an assassination.

Of course, Count Rumple was no stranger to killing. He quite liked it in fact. It was what made him so good at reaping, he supposed. Unlike other reapers, he had no desire to try to come to terms with his life, to find forgiveness and move on to some other plane of existence. No, he was perfectly happy being a reaper. It was a job for which he was well suited. And the benefits were exceptional. Killing was just a perk.

For the first century or so, the Count had used his skills in the business realm to amass a tidy fortune. With it, he had built for himself a comfortable life; one full of excess of wine, woman, and song, as they say. When that had gotten boring, he had turned to his other skills as an exterminator to explore the world's darker side. With his inability to be killed, and his uncanny skill with his razor sharp blade hidden securely away on his person, he had become a legend among the criminal subset.

At first, he wondered what the catch might be. But as the years grew long and his legend and power grew, he started to doubt there was one. As long as he dutifully did his job as a reaper, he got the impression that who or what ever had put him here cared very little what he actually did otherwise. Eventually, he convinced himself that he was untouchable.

And so things continued. Gone were the pompous displays of excess. He had learned long ago that it wasn't wise for him to draw attention to himself. At least not publicly. It wouldn't do to have too many people want to start looking into his background. Things could get tricky that way. Privately, though, he ruled the criminal underground as their lord and master. A god among mere mortals. And what did gods do after they had all they desired? It seems, they became human.

Gradually, his thoughts turned back to those of the man he once was. A man with a different set of desires. One that included children and a family. Someone to share his wisdom and his legacy with. But he couldn't procreate (he was, after all, _dead_ ). Couldn't have a family. All of that was impossible. Until he met a boy and his thoughts began to change on the matter. In him, he had found a surrogate son, a like-minded and impressionable young man who he could mold and shape in his image. He had high aspirations for the lad, training him in all he knew about business and life, and eventually about the darker aspects of his being. And the boy had thrived under his tutelage, a worthy successor to his throne. The young man had even come to love him as a father, just as surely as he loved him as his own son.

And then, fate had to go and muck it all up.

There were many nights he wondered who had reaped his son. He hadn't been there when he was killed, but someone had to have been. How many nights had he dwelled up it? How many nights did he long to know who had come and collected his son's soul at the moment of his demise. Was it someone who knew what they were doing and made sure he didn't suffer? What he wouldn't give just to know.

The Count sighed, slamming the note down on the counter and running a wrinkled hand along his jaw. Surely this must be some sort of joke. _Killian Jones._ He hadn't thought about that man in years. So why now? Why a red note bearing that name? Someone somewhere must be having a laugh. After all, how could he kill a man he had already killed? And he was positive he had killed him. Even if it weren't for the countless years since then, the Count knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Killian Jones was indeed dead. He had watched in delight as the man's blood spilled from his chest. He had watched in joy as the light left his eyes. Hell, he had even giggled like a young lad in breeches as his men buried the body in the mud of the Thames. A burial fitting a pirate and a thief.

Rumple sneered and withdrew his blade from its sheath, checking his reflection in its smooth, polished edge. The countless years had not changed either his true visage or the new one he was given when he was made a reaper, although he had come to rather prefer the new face he had been given. It was handsome enough to assure access to many a woman's spread legs, and yet unremarkable enough that he didn't often need to move from place to place in order to not draw attention to his unchanging nature. His cold, dark eyes winked back at him, a glimmer of true elation taking shape.

He hadn't felt this excited about a job in forever. God help _this_ Killian Jones when he found him. It would be far too satisfying to get to kill a man with the same name as the bastard who had stolen his wife. This job called for finesse. This was a job he wanted to take his time and really _savor_.

Rumple's lips curled up in a smile, teeth sharp as razors. Oh, he was definitely going to enjoy this.

 _Storybrooke_. What a stupidly quaint sounding name. They'll never see him coming.

Turning, he cashed out his till, switching off the lights in the display cases as he went. When he reached the front door, he flipped the sign over to CLOSED before securely locking it up behind him. As he exited, his mind was already fixed upon all the numerous ways he could end this man's life. Therefore, he failed to notice the way the neon sign in the window flickered and went out, the word's ' _Gold's Pawn Shop'_ blinking out of existence, almost as if they had never been there at all.

….

 **Reviews?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - I apologize profusely for your wait on this chapter. However, I am quite happy with the results, and I hope you will be too. On a side note, of all the historical research I've done for these two fics, I must say that looking up breakfast foods of the 18th C was probably the strangest.  
**

 **Thanks to all of the feedback and follows from just that first chapter alone. I really hope to live up to all of your faith in me with this story. That said, I have no idea how frequently I will be able to update. I will try very hard for weekly, but I am also still trying to finish my other fic "Stages" in time for the S5 premier. I need to stop getting distracted by spoilers, but OMG...I can't deal...**

 **Enough of my rambling. Mmmm...enjoy ;)**

 **Chapter 1 (Waking)**

There was something very warm and firm pressed into her back as Emma slowly woke from the haziness of sleep. Warm and-she flexed her fingers experimentally—soft, and snoring gently into her ear.

Emma smiled and gingerly turned around, wincing at the delicious aches and pains in places she never even knew she had. Killian was still sound asleep, his right hand draped over her hip, his left hand and encased arm wedged awkwardly between them so as not to hurt her with the hardness of his cast. At some point, he had kicked the covers off so that both his bare chest and her bare shoulders were fully exposed to the air.

 _Huh, wonder why I didn't notice that? Probably because the man's a furnace._

As she took her time tracing his features with her eyes, she smiled to herself. They had been in such flurry of pent-up desire yesterday as he tried to reacquaint himself with the land of the living (and all his new sensations), that she hadn't really felt like she had gotten her own chance to adequately explore his body. After their first furious coupling on the floor by the front door, she knew then that once wouldn't be enough. She hastily (and breathlessly) placed a call to Regina begging her to watch Henry just one more night (to which she reluctantly agreed, but made Emma promise a full explanation) before falling into bed with Killian for the rest of the day and well into the night, stopping only to refuel on food and visit the bathroom on occasion.

It was odd, but even after their sex marathon, she wanted to know all of him, to map out every inch of his skin and tattoo it forever on her heart. This coming from a woman who could barely stand to be touched or hugged just a few weeks ago. Had she changed so much because of him, or was it just a phase she was going through? Deciding it was far too early in the morning to start questioning her relationship (that would come after she had a few cups of strong coffee, no doubt), she bit her lip nervously and peered down and the startlingly attractive specimen of man next to her.

Starting with his thick black lashes, her eyes trailed down past the scar on his cheek, to the dark reddish brown scruff along his chin. He was so utterly beautiful that she still couldn't believe all of this was real. How had she found a man that loved her so truly and completely that he defied death for her? What had she ever done to deserve someone like that in her life? There was nothing special about her whatsoever. She was just an orphan, a thief, a widow, and a mother. She was nobody. How could someone like him love her that much?

She had no idea what to do with something that monumental, that huge, so Emma did as she always did and promptly pushed it to the farthest corner of her mind.

 _Out of sight, out of mind,_ she thought _. Now I can focus on more important things. Like his scent, or his neck, or mmmm, his chest…_

Her fingers wound their way along his coarse chest hair, pressing into his firm muscles, drifting down along his abs, stopping at the border to his soft cotton sleep pants. She took a moment to slow her breathing as she itched to explore him further. Now, in the first rays of dawn, she could see the story of his life in the scars on his body. She longed to know the reason for every one of them. Last night, she noticed that he even sported a few tattoos. She had been a bit too _preoccupied_ to really look at them then, but now, she could examine them at her leisure.

There was one on his right arm; a ship's wheel with the four points of the compass around its edges. She guessed that one was related to his life at sea. On the inside of his left forearm, there was a heart with the name "Milah" inside a fancy scroll. For a moment, her gut clenched at the sight, but the brief flare of jealousy gave way to something more like bittersweet understanding. He had loved Milah, just as she had loved Neal, but both of them were in their pasts. His tattoo was merely an echo of that love, just as Henry was for her. She looked away, heart burning with strange emotions she wasn't ready to sift through yet. It was then that she saw the faint outline of a peculiarly shaped mark on his chest, just over his heart. In this light, she couldn't quite make it out, but it seemed like it was some sort of…bird?

Leaning over to get a better look, she startled when she heard him say, "It's a swan, love."

She blinked, suddenly seeing the black outline make sense now. Smiling, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. They were hazy and unfocused from the sleep, but no less brilliant blue, even in the dim pre-dawn light. "You must have a thing for birds," she quipped.

"Just one in particular," Killian said, grinning wickedly at her, his hand stirring to life and stroking over her hip. _Jesus_. Just that small little move had already brought back the ache of desire between her legs. It wasn't even seven yet, they had just had several rounds the night before, and already her body was on fire for him again? How was she ever going to get anything done with him around? She felt a hardness nudging into her thigh and looked down with a smirk. Judging by the growing tent of his pants, he was no less affected than she was.

Slowly, he slid his hand up the side of her body, leaving a trail of sparks in his wake, until he cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. Suddenly, she felt as if she were drowning, lost in the wide dark sea of his too-blue eyes.

 _What had happened to the air? Why couldn't she take a breath?_

"I've long believed that swans were my sacred animal," he said, equally as breathless as she was.

Somehow, she managed to find her voice. "Your what?"

"My sacred animal. My protector," he sighed deeply, brushing his thumb over the swell of her lips, his eyes drawn to the motion of his hand. Her own hand trembled as she tentatively reached over to stroke the softness of his skin upon his chest, and he leaned his head closer.

"Are you telling me that your spirit animal is a _swan_?" She countered, tilting her chin up to meet him.

"Aye," he replied, his eyes already sliding shut. The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers. Hot, tender, soft; the man kissed with the same zeal that he did everything else. Sucking on her top lip, she felt a brand new rush of heat flood through her body. Her lips parted for him and his tongue eagerly swooped in, instantly seeking out contact with her own. She was losing touch with her thoughts, her mind flashing only vivid images of fireworks and spinning stars behind her eyes.

Was she even still tied to the earth? She felt like she was floating. With a little moan that emanated from the center of his chest, he broke the kiss, breathing hard. Then, his lips parted in a slow smile, his eyes reflecting only love and happiness. No one had ever looked at her like he did and it damn near made her want to cry again.

"A seaman is many things, my love, and, in general, we are a very superstitious lot. Perhaps I shall tell you the story of my magic swan someday," he answered breathlessly.

"A magic swan? Really?" She scoffed, pinching him gently in the ribs, trying to regain her balance. Trying to feel like her head was still attached to her body.

His tongue curled into the side of his mouth in response and for a moment, she completely forgot her own name. "Aye, love. Really and truly"

 _Fuck him. Fuck him and his damn magic swan and magic tongue and… just fuck him._ "Why not tell me today, then?"

"No," he replied in a bit of a teasing tone, reaching over to tickle a very sensitive spot just above the dip of her hips. "I believe you said today there were important things to talk about."

She laughed, then swatted his hand away. His eyes trailed down her almost naked body, as his tongue continued to swipe across his lips, like a person deciding what they wanted to eat from a menu. She swallowed hard, and ran her hand along his thigh. "I did? I must have gone momentarily insane. Talking is overrated."

His eyes shot up to hers, and he gave her a pained look. _That's right, buddy. Two can play that game._ The look he giving her seemed so torn, she almost felt sorry for him. As if he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth, he said, "I believe you were of sound mind, Swan. Maybe not sound body, but I believe you could blame our vigorous activities for that." _And there went his damned eyebrow._ "However, you did make me swear that we would have a real conversation, and I never go back on my word."

She turned and groaned angrily into her pillow.

He chuckled at her and started playing with her hair. She could feel the soft tugging at the base of her neck and it was literally the most sensual feeling she had ever known. He leaned over, still playing with her curls, and said huskily, "So now that you have me, love, perhaps I should ask just what do you intend to do with me? As enjoyable as those other endeavors have been, perhaps we should discuss how this is going to work in a more practical sense."

A deep shudder ran through her as all her fears came rushing back. What did he mean by that? Didn't he want to be here? She could hardly blame him if he wanted to leave. After all, he'd been dead and stuck in this house for so long, surely he would want to go see the world again. Right? And then what? What if he found something better? What if he decided he wanted more?

She flipped onto her side suddenly, staring hard at him. "Are you saying you don't want to stay here?"

His eyes widened, then softened, as he tried to make out her feelings. "Not at all, Emma. I wish to stay with you more than anything. I was merely concerned about you. This is your house, love. I have no intention of imposing myself upon you and your boy, if you do not wish it."

"I…I want you to stay," she replied immediately, the relief washing over her. _He wants to stay._ "Really, this house is as much yours as it is mine." She sighed and sat up, swinging her legs out of the bed. He remained under the sheets, watching her as she moved about, trying to get a handle on her thoughts. Why had she freaked out on him? Why couldn't she just trust him when he told her he loved her? _Why was this so hard?_

Digging out a robe from her closet, she turned her back on him. "You're right, we did sort of just jump into the deep end with this thing. But I don't want you to go anywhere. Okay?" It came a bit more like a command than a question, but she didn't take it back.

"Aye, love. My place is by your side for as long as you will have me," he replied with utmost sincerity.

Emma flushed and ducked her head. There was something so earnest and sweet about the way he spoke to her that she didn't know exactly how to react. No one had really put her first like that before. It was an odd feeling.

 _No, not odd. Scary. Terrifying, actually._

Changing the subject before her emotions could betray her, Emma returned from the closet, the robe hanging open and she leaned down to tug on his arm. "Come on, Captain. Breakfast awaits."

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Killian merely peered at her without saying a word. It wasn't until she looked down and realized that all she had on under the robe was a see-through tank top and a pair of very tiny shorts and that at this angle, she was giving him quite the show, that she realized why he wasn't speaking. She could see the muscles in his jaw and throat working hard to form some sort of response that wasn't a groan.

Her lips curled up seductively. His eyes followed even the slightest movements she made with that hungry, conflicted expression. It made her feel powerful and strong, like she could do anything. Like she was the sexiest woman alive. It made her want to live in this moment forever.

Unfortunately, life couldn't be put on hold indefinitely, and soon she would have to work. Swaying her hips, and trying not to laugh, she backed away from him and made quite the show of closing the silky material over her chest and knotting it tightly. Turning towards the door, she could hear the little disappointed moan he made and it made her entire body shiver.

As she left him there and made her way down to the kitchen, she found her thoughts drifting again, despite the ever-present physical desire. Or maybe it was because of it. The attraction between them was so palpable, she no idea how to deal with it. It had never been this way with anyone else before. Never had she felt this hungry, desperate drive for a person the way she did for him. It made her worried that this whole thing between them felt was going too fast, like it was too much for her to handle. Like at any second, it could burn out, fall apart.

Part of her (a large part) wanted to run, to stop whatever was going on between them right now before it could go any farther, because she knew that she was already in too deep. If he left, it wouldn't just break her, it would utterly decimate her.

But there was another part that wouldn't let her run. Not this time. It kept whispering to her that he loved her. That he came back to her. That she would be a fool for running away from this. It really wanted her to see just how far this could go between them. It was the voice that kept saying things like _happily ever after,_ and _true love,_ and didn't make them sound like some sort of unachievable fantasy. It kept reminding her that Killian was different. That he wasn't Neal. That he was something truly special.

And, _oh god,_ was he special.

Objectively, she knew he was beyond handsome. No wonder Ruby had dropped the coffee yesterday at the diner. Killian just had an air about him that went beyond physical beauty. There was an inner beauty that shone through his soul. Part of it was the pain buried deep in his too blue eyes. Despite his happiness, that long experienced pain would probably always linger, the reminder of a tragic past. But it was that pain, and that loss, that made him seem more real and vibrant than anyone she had ever met before. And her heart simply wouldn't let her run away from that.

…

After Swan had hurried off, Killian took a minute to compose himself. _Gods_ , how had he gotten so lucky? What had he ever done to deserve the gift that was Emma Swan? She had no idea of just how beautiful she truly was, how strong and amazing a person she was. It was just one of the things he loved about her, and as he hurried to get dressed, he vowed that he would do everything in his power to show her just what he saw when he looked at her.

Now all he had to do was figure out why she was still having doubts about his intentions. True, it was all brand new, but they had been friends before all this started. Surely his change of… _state_ …wouldn't affect that. _And she seemed all too willing to share her bed and her body,_ he thought, as he was bombarded with the memories of the night before. But they were cut short as his thoughts drifted back to the worry etched across her face when she had asked if he was sure about being with her, like he could be somehow considering ever being apart from her. He knew Emma had walls, that she had been hurt, but surely she must know how much he loved her, what lengths he would go to for her.

So was it just something about him? Maybe he hadn't proven himself worthy enough yet. After all, he did spend the last two centuries as a vengeful spirit, wreaking havoc and causing fear. He had been the villain, the monster. She had every right to be afraid of him.

And now what was he? He had no ship, he had no real knowledge of this world, other than the sparse impressions he had picked up from the people visiting the house and the few things Emma had taught him. He was a man without purpose. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe she wasn't ready to let him in until he proved himself to be an equal, a partner in all things. It was what she deserved; someone who would cherish her, worship her, provide for and take care of her and her son.

 _A hero. A man of honor._

Killian smiled to himself as he dressed, throwing on the clothes Emma had bought for him, with little thought (except when it came to fitting the soft cotton shirt around the cast he wore, which was a constant thorn in his side). He was a man of honor once before, surely he could be that again. And then, he could make Emma every bit as happy as she had made him, for he was indeed a fortunate man. Not only had Emma let him into her life, but her son's as well.

And he was determined to be a man worth their love, no matter what.

Killian finished dressing, slipping on a pair of shoes that looked as though they were made of sailcloth— _Chucks, she had called them (He recalled the pang of jealousy he felt over this Chuck fellow, and how she had assured him the shoes did not belong to him, that they were simply named for the man who designed them._ )-and made use of the indoor facilities (one of the few things he didn't miss when he was a ghost). Soon enough, the smell of something wonderful came wafting up from below and he heard Emma calling his name from the kitchen. Killian hurried down the stairs, thinking about how wonderful it would be when Henry was there as well and they would be able to sit down together and eat breakfast as a family.

 _A family._

Already in his mind, that was what they were. He had no idea if Emma felt the same way, but after her admission of love and the way they've been so connected, he believed that she must feel it on some level, even if she wasn't yet ready to admit it.

He entered the kitchen wearing the dopiest grin on his face and leaned against her kitchen counter with his thumb hooked on the belt on his jeans, just watching as she bustled around making the food. "That smells divine, love," he said, sniffing the air.

She spun and shot him a mock scowl. "It's just bacon and eggs. Nothing special. I just thought you'd want something you were familiar with. You are familiar with this, right?"

He sidled up next to her, tongue running along his bottom lip. "I am quite accustomed to bacon and eggs. Although, as a seaman, eggs were a rare treat and bacon was not typically served hot." He could see the curiosity in her eyes, and he realized that she was no less interested in the world he came from than he was in the one she was from. He smirked and swayed closer to her, his hand darting out to play with the knot in her robe. "However, Emma, the fact that you prepared these foods specifically for my enjoyment means that I find this meal to be quite special to me.

She flushed deeply, the color spreading from her cheeks down her neck into the robe she was wearing. It only made him grin harder. Refusing to look at him, she remained silent, instead dishing the food up on a plate and handing it over to him. As he took it from her, he purposefully ran his fingers over hers in a soft caress. She shuddered slightly, and he bit his lip, surprised by the reaction he was getting from her, even after their very intimate night together.

Deciding to not push his luck, and to allow her the space she was trying so hard to maintain, he merely thanked her for the food and took the plate with his good hand, before finding a seat at the table. She followed, setting down a fork and a glass of something bright orange to drink in front of him (" _It's orange juice." "Ah. Have you had a scourge of the scurvy, love?" "What? No. It's just what people typically drink for breakfast, and it's good for other things besides scurvy." "Then I shall concede to your wisdom. Cheers.")_

Returning a moment later with her own dish, she took a seat next to him, but far enough that he couldn't touch her. He was wondering what her reason for it was when she spoke. "So, I've been thinking…"

He tried to move closer, but she steadfastly refused to touch him. He sighed and scratched his ear as he pulled back. "I find, love, that when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant surprise."

She looked up and him, her green eyes narrowed in a glare. "I was thinking about what we are going to tell everyone about you. Especially what I'm going to tell Henry."

"Ah," Killian replied noncommittally, and quickly shoveled the eggs (which were indeed delicious) into his mouth. "Am I not to inform people of my status among the recently deceased?"

She continued to frown while she snacked on her strip of bacon. "I'm serious, Killian. We can't let anyone know the truth about you. People would think you're crazy. Or that I am. They could make all sorts of problems for us. _They could take Henry away_."

Killian looked up sharply at the note of panic in her voice. He grabbed her hand and squeezed in gently until she looked him in the eye. "Emma, nothing is going to happen to your lad. However, if you truly believe the best course is to fabricate a story as to my appearance in your life, then I will endeavor to follow your lead."

Slowly she nodded, the fear leaving her eyes. "Um, okay. So, I think we need to make your cover as close to your real story as possible, that way it's easy to remember and keep straight," she broke off for some reason, her eyes distant and unfocused, as if she was recalling something. He gave her hand another quick squeeze and she looked back at him, but didn't explain where she had gone, choosing instead to skirt around whatever it was. "At least I don't think there will be a reason to change your name. The only person who's ever heard of you around here was Marco, and I doubt he'll be an issue. But Killian, until I can get you some sort of ID or something, I don't want you wandering the town."

He dropped his head and nodded, frustrated that he wouldn't be able to go out and find a way to earn his place at her side any time soon. But he was a patient man. He could wait. "Very well, Swan. I will concede to your wishes."

"That means when I go to work, you'll stay here and stay out of trouble?" There was a sharpness to her words that set him on edge. It was like she was talking to him as if he were a child, not a grown man capable of mature and rational actions.

He furrowed his brow, trying (and failing) to keep the sting of her words from angering him. Didn't she trust him? What did she think he was going to do? Start a fight with a stranger? Shout his life's story from the rooftops? "Aye," he bit out, regretting the way his voice revealed his emotions.

She frowned at him, her eyes narrowing and her lips pinched in a tight line. She was clearly mad now. But why? Was she angry that he was upset by her demand? He tried not to let her see how her words affected him and he couldn't understand where this anger at him was coming from. Truthfully, it hurt. But she was doing what she felt she needed to for Henry's sake, so he pushed his feelings aside and did his best to get their conversation back on track. However, everything that came to mind was laced with a bitterness he couldn't hide. "What about your lad? What will the story for him be?"

Her frown deepened, and she bit her lip. "I don't think we should tell him about us just yet."

Another sting, this one cut deeper and harder than the other. Now she didn't trust him around her son? He had saved the boy's life. He had shown nothing but genuine care for the lad. There had to be something he was missing. No longer able to keep the anger from his voice, he looked her in the eye and said resolutely, "I assure you, I shall be on my best behavior in his presence."

She flinched at his words, her eyes dropping to her hands that were twisting in her lap. She seemed to deflate slightly, her own anger melting away just as quickly as it had arisen. "I just don't want to confuse him," she whispered.

Scooting his chair right next to her, he placed a finger under her chin and drew her eyes up to his. "Confuse him how, Swan?"

"Well, for one, how am I supposed to tell him about how we met? How am I supposed to tell him that we are together, when, for all he knows, we've only just met each other?"

"Why not the truth?" He asked.

She balked and sat back. "The truth? Are you serious?"

"Aye. Maybe not, as you said, about my past, but why not tell him we are courting? What are you so concerned about?"

She looked away, out past the large windows to the rolling sea beyond. "What if he thinks I'm trying to replace his father? Or what if this doesn't work out and he gets hurt?" Her words were so softly spoken, he had to lean in to hear.

Suddenly, he understood the real reason for her anger. He could see the fear flashing in her eyes. She wasn't only afraid of Henry getting hurt, she was afraid for herself as well.

He pulled her closer, rubbing her shoulder with his good hand until he felt the tension leave her body. Only then did he speak, waiting for her to meet his eye so that he could show her the truth in what he said. "Emma, I love you and I've no intention of going anywhere. I'm in this for the long haul. I want a life with you, and with Henry. However, if you think it best to take things slow, I assure you, I am a patient man and I will move at speed you chart for us." He dropped his hand, looking away. "Do you wish me to find residence elsewhere in the meantime?"

"No!" She replied quickly, stammering to quickly amend that with, "I mean, this is your house, too. I'm not…I don't want to kick you out."

"Then perhaps I should stay in the attic until you decide what you wish to say to your boy."

"That's not what…" she sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. Her face fell, and he wished for nothing more than the ability to make her smile and take away her fears. "I liked you sleeping next to me. I don't want you in the attic. But I just want to keep this on down low for now."

"Down low?" He asked.

She gave him the briefest of smiles and his heart felt like it might burst. "You know, like…a secret. I suppose it means that what Henry doesn't know won't hurt him."

With a confused shake of his head, he asked, "Are you sure that's wise, love?"

"No, but he's six, so he probably won't even notice where you sleep, as long as we keep it 'PG' around him, it'll be fine."

He tilted his head and raised his brow. " _PG_?"

She waved it off, schooling her face into that of a stern task master. "Never mind. Just…no kissing, no intimate touches, no 'sex eyes' or innuendoes while Henry's around."

"Swan, you wound me," he said with offense, holding his hand over his heart. "Do you really think I would behave that way in front of your lad? Perhaps you don't recall, but in the era I come from, any display of affection outside of marriage would be considered extremely bad form."

"Did that stop you?" She asked with a slight smile to let him know she was teasing.

He sighed, deciding that honesty was probably best. "Well, no. I was a sailor, not a lord, but I do know how to behave as a gentleman."

She smiled a bit bigger, the edges softening her eyes. "I know you do. And I will tell Henry about us eventually. I just need to make sure that this is going to work out first, okay?"

And there was that wall again. She honestly believed they might not work out. Did she have no faith in his love for her? Or perhaps, it was her love in him. It mattered not. He would not let her fears destroy them. "As you wish, love," he replied sadly.

"Crap," she said suddenly, jumping out of her seat, grabbing at their plates and taking them to the sink. "It's getting late and I have to be a work soon. I'm going to go take a shower and get ready." She finished clearing away their breakfast dishes, while he rose and studied her actions for future reference. She turned when she noticed he was behind her and gestured towards her living room. "You can watch Netflix if you want, while I'm gone. You do remember how to work the remote, right?" He nodded quickly, as she retrieved the small metal box she called a 'laptop' (although he had yet to figure out why she was always staring into it, as he had not been able to discern its purpose) and set it upon the table, pressing a button on the side and causing it to glow. "Or I can show you how to use Google so that you can read about all that's happened in the last couple hundred years."

He knew she was trying to make him feel better about what she had asked of him, and she did have a valid point, but he was still a bit sore about her doubts about him. "Aye, that would probably be a good idea, especially if I'm to ever be allowed in public again."

Her eyes instantly flashed back to him, and her mouth turned down in a penitent pout. "Hey, I'm sorry," she said, this time taking his hand instead and threading her fingers through his. "I didn't mean it to sound like I don't trust you. I do. It's just…there's a lot you don't know about this world and I don't want anything to happen to you."

Instantly, he regretted the bitterness still lacing his words. Especially after she had just admitted that she wanted him around. "Swan, I understand." And he did, truly. She was scared, but she hadn't meant to be cruel. All the anger was gone, replaced by a deep sense of shame for his behavior. "I shall not leave this house until you tell me otherwise."

She determinedly looked him in the eye. "You can leave. I'm not keeping you a prisoner, Killian. I just want you to be safe."

His frown softened into a smile. "I promise you, Emma, that you have nothing to worry about."

Nudging him lightly in his uninjured shoulder with her elbow, she returned the smile and said, "Alright. I knew this wasn't going to be easy. I didn't mean to freak out on you." It felt as if all the tension that had been in the air a few moments ago was gone.

With a soft grin, he gripped her hand tightly. "Rest assured, you did not 'freak' on me."

Emma snorted. "It's 'freak out', not 'freak on'. That has an entirely different meaning."

He hitched his eyebrow up, indicating that she should elaborate, but all she did was blush a violent red.

 _Ah, so it had_ that _kind of meaning._

He gave her a wickedly suggestive smirk, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, as he replied, "Ah, thank you for the correction, love. Perhaps more Netflix viewing is required after all."

Her eyes dipped to his lips and he watched in rapt attention as they deepened to a dark forest green, the surge in the electricity coming from their joined hands heating up his entire body. She blinked, trying to clear the haziness away from her eyes and said, "I guess it couldn't hurt. But don't take it all so literally. They are only actors, remember."

"I'm sure I shall figure out the way this world operates in due course. Especially with your brilliant tutelage, love." He winked at her then and grinned wider as her eyes fell to his lips once more, as if drawn against her will.

Her body swayed closer and he bent down, ready to take her and show her the effect she had on him, when she suddenly glanced away, drawing in a shaky breath at the same time. She placed both hands firmly on his chest, pushing him back up gently and said, "Okay. Now I really am going to be late. Graham is going to kill me."

Killian growled at that man's name and circled her waist with his hand, tugging her deftly into his growing hardness. "He can wait," he declared, biting off the 't' before pouncing on her lips and claiming them for his own.

She moaned into the kiss, her hands lifting up to run through the hairs at the nape of his neck. "Mmmm," she hummed, her body falling contentedly into his. "I suppose he can."

...

 **Reviews make for a happy and productive writer ;)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- It's Valentine's. It's my birthday. And it has been far too long since I've updated. So as a birthday gift from me to all my lovely readers, here is the next chapter! Hope you enjoy, and there should be another one in the not too distant future!**

 **Chapter 2 (Arrival)**

It was mid-morning when the tawny colored Cadillac pulled up in front of a residence that looked more at place in a medieval fairytale than in a seaside town. The faded grey paint on the crossbeams and wood slat-board certainly lent itself to the less-than-overwhelming charm of the place. Lace curtains billowed limply in the windows, and a couple small shrubs looked as though they were embarrassed to be seen next to the place. The only hint of color whatsoever was where the grey paint had chipped away to reveal red brick underneath.

Gold shuddered at the thought of having to stay at a place that not only looked like The Brothers Grimm childhood home, but also went by the spectacularly fitting name of "Granny's Bed and Breakfast." Now that he was here, he was rethinking this whole venture. Right now, all he wanted was to find this Killian Jones, kill him in an excruciatingly slow manner, and then go back home. Whoever this 'Granny' person was, she had better stay the hell out of his way.

A wiry, grey-haired old woman greeted him at the front desk, her half-moon spectacles yet another part of the whole clichéd quaintness that was positively oozing from this town in droves. "Can I help you?"

He rubbed his aching head with his index finger as he limped up to the counter. "I doubt that, but alas, it seems I'm left with little recourse. You seem to be the only lodging in town. Therefore, I suppose I shall need a room."

If the woman could have turned into a wolf and ripped his throat out, she would have, or so her glare would have him believe. "How long?" She (Granny herself, he presumed) snapped at him.

"That, I do not know," Gold replied tensely as he clenched his fist tighter around his gold-tipped cane. "My business in your _lovely [his lip curled up in distaste at the thought_ ] little town may require me to stay for an undisclosed amount of time. However, let me assure you that I have no desire to stay here any longer than necessary."

He could tell she was very nearly ready to simply toss him bodily out the door, so he slipped his hand into his tailored suit and withdrew a rather large stack of bills. Her eyes widened enough to know that she wouldn't be sending him away any time soon.

"I expect you accept cash?"

She growled, but nodded. "It's $200 a night. Two days deposit required, of course."

"Of course," he mocked, knowing good and well that she was charging him an exorbitant fee. The grey-haired woman grunted in response when handed over four bills, slipping them along the counter and into the till like she was a Vegas magician.

"The rest is due at check out," she added, reaching under the counter for a small card and sliding it over to him. "Fill this out and I'll fetch your key." She watched him like a hawk as he scribbled in his information. Peering down at the card, she asked, "Would you like the square view or the harbor view, Mr. Gold?" The way she said his last name made it sound as if she couldn't believe he would think she would buy that Gold was his actual name.

When she turned around to retrieve a set of keys from behind a locked glass box, he just couldn't resist trying to get in one last dig. "How about you just give me whatever room isn't infected with mice or insects. And preferably one with clean sheets."

If he had hoped to demean her to the point where she backed down, he didn't succeed. She merely hardened her glare and asked, "Your business, Mr. Gold?"

Surprised by her bravery, he was momentarily caught off his guard. "Excuse me?"

She tilted her head, and crossed her arms, clearly trying to intimidate him. "You said you were here on some sort of business. What is it?"

"None of yours, madam." He flashed her a cold, reptilian smile and jauntily picked up his cane. "Have a good day." A moment later, he had vanished down the hallway.

" _Prick_ ," she grumbled at his dark retreating form.

…

Having spent her morning at work trying to avoid talking or even thinking about anything to do with the man waiting for her back home, she was a bit taken by surprise when Graham appeared behind her while she was sitting at her desk. "Emma? I wasn't expecting you back," he said. There was an unreadable expression in his dark brown eyes that she thought meant he was angry with her.

Why would he be angry? Did he somehow find out about Killian? Was she going to have to explain her love life to her boss-slash-friend-slash-guy-who-had-feelings-for-her already? Was she ready for that?

He shook his head at her, a look of exasperation on his face, like it should be obvious what he was talking about. "How's Henry? He must be doing better."

"Oh." She replied lamely. _Henry. Right. The accident. He was just worried about Henry._ "Yeah, he's good. Really good."

Graham shuffled nervously as he continued to frown. "Ah, well. That's…good. Are you sure everything's alright, Emma? You seem a bit distracted. I hope this isn't about what happened between us, because I just want you to know I really did mean what I said before. I'm happy to just be your friend."

"No. I mean, yes, I'm fine." She offered lamely. He seemed so worried that he had offended her and she had no idea how to fix it. "I mean, this isn't about us or anything, I just didn't get much sleep last night," she confessed, instantly blushing beet red when she recalled exactly why she didn't get much sleep.

All of her instincts were screaming at her to just run before she made things worse. Quickly, she swung around and grabbed the keys to the squad car. "I'm going to go on patrol. You want me to get lunch?"

Graham nodded, his hand fidgeting with pocket of his vest as he smiled tersely at her. "Sure. Just don't go falling asleep behind the wheel. Or if you do, make sure you park the car out in the woods so the townsfolk don't complain about where their tax money is going."

Hanging his head in shame, he groaned at his failed attempt at a joke. However, it was exactly what she needed and the awkward tension between them was suddenly gone. "I'll take that under advisement," she teased and she noticed that his posture immediately relaxed. "I'll be back in a couple hours. With Granny's."

Graham looked up then and met her eye, a smile brightening up his face. "Maybe you should have Ruby see if she can add some extra caffeine to her coffee. And I'll take a cheeseburger."

A minute later, she was pulling on her jacket and heading for the car. Distracted by thoughts of Killian and her night before, she never even noticed the older gentlemen with the cane as he passed her on the street.

Gold was also thinking about Killian, but for different reasons. He was busy fantasizing about all the ways he would exact payment for having to spend time in this town on Jones' hide to see much more than a red and blonde blur as she passed. He was far too busy to think about women right now, anyway.

He had a sheriff to see.

…..

What was she going to do? She had to get it together, especially since Henry would be out of school soon and she was going to have to try to explain to him that 'Captain Killy' was going to be living with them for the foreseeable future. And then what? What if he didn't want to be around Henry? Or what if Henry was mad at her for just jumping into this…thing…and…

The patrol car swerved to avoid an old man trying to get his mail and Emma waved at him in embarrassment as he shook his fist in her direction. She really needed to get it together before she got fired or killed someone.

Figuring it was better to not be behind the wheel of a moving vehicle in her present state, Emma stopped the car outside of the diner and let her head hit the steering wheel. "Ow," she moaned, as she then rocked her forehead back and forth over her hands.

If it hadn't been for the knocking at the window, she probably would have stayed that way for the next hour, trying to rub out her thoughts into the leather grip of the steering wheel.

Ruby was standing outside her window, rolling her eyes and examining the crimson finish on her nail polish. "If you're going to do that," she called through the glass, "you might as well come in and sit at a booth in the back where at least the entire town can't witness it."

Emma lifted her head and groaned, reaching over to release her seat belt. As she exited the car and followed the leggy brunette into the diner, she grumbled softly, "Who do you think made up that rule for cops drinking on the job? 'Cause it's a stupid rule and I want to punch them in the face."

She plopped down in the booth farthest to the back and Ruby joined her a moment later. "How on earth are you this miserable after the way you left here with Mr. Sex-on-a-stick? Seriously, girl? With the way he was eye-fucking you yesterday, you shouldn't even be able to walk."

With a deep sigh, Emma lifted her eyes just enough to peer up at Ruby. "I don't know. I don't know what is wrong with me."

There was a long pause while the waitress studied her like she was trying to puzzle out the secrets to the universe. "Oh," Ruby replied nonchalantly, her eyes darting out the window.

Anger bubbled up inside her, and Emma sat straight up in the booth, crossing her arms over her chest. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Ruby shrugged, playing with the hem of her apron. "Nothing."

" _Ruby_."

"I don't think you're ready to hear it."

Rolling her eyes, Emma motioned with her fingers. "Lay it on me. I can take it."

The waitress's shoulders fell and she frowned. "Fine. I think…I think this guy, whoever he is…and believe me, Emma, we will be talking about that…is different. He's important to you and you are flipping out. A bit. A lot of bit."

"I…he's not…" She floundered, her mouth actually opening and closing just like a fish. But there was no denying the Ruby was right. Killian did mean something to her. Something so huge and life-altering that she still hadn't completely processed it all. Her head fell back onto the table with a dull thunk. "What do I do? The only other relationship I've ever had was…well, it wasn't like this. I can't mess this up."

"Emma," the brunette sighed, clearly taking pity on her and reached over to take her hand. "You're not going to mess it up." She tilted her head, "You really have it bad for him, don't you?"

"Not helping," Emma moaned.

Suddenly, the hand that was lying on top of hers was gone and the next thing she knew, Ruby was sliding over next to her in the booth. "Fine. Here's what you do." She waited until she was sure she had Emma's undivided attention. Then, she grinned. "Take a deep breath. Smile. Go home and make crazy, passionate love to that man all night long. And just let things happen in their own time. I take it that if you are actually admitting to having feelings for him, he's admitted the same to you?"

 _You could say that,_ Emma thought.

"Yeah. He's been really clear about his feelings towards me."

Just talking a little bit about Killian was making her heart ache to see him. It had only been a few hours since she had left, but she was practically vibrating with the need to be near him, to see him, to talk with him. How was it possible to miss someone this much when you had hardly even been away? Would this feeling ever subside? Did she want it to?

There must have been an odd look on her face because Ruby became very still, biting her lip slightly. "I need the whole story, Emma. I need it all. I'm in a dry spell right now, and I'm forced to live vicariously through your love life, so I need details."

Unable to help it, Emma laughed at just how serious the waitress sounded. "Not now, Ruby."

Ruby grinned wickedly. "That's not a 'no.'"

Emma groaned and shook her head. "Fine. We'll talk at Book Club." _Great, just great. Now I'm going to have to tell all the girls about my love life and I'll just bet the whole town will find out about Killian before the week is out._ "Damn, I should get back. Can I get the usual for me and for Graham."

She followed Ruby up to the counter, while the brunette placed the order with the cook in the back. While she was waiting, Ruby poured her a cup of coffee and Emma sat at the bar, sipping it in silent contemplation.

"Speaking of that scruffy Irish unicorn, how did he take the news about your new guy?" Ruby asked with a far too interested raised brow as she leaned over to refill the cup.

"Um…well…" Emma stumbled.

She grinned wolfishly back. "He doesn't know, does he?"

"No. And please don't tell him," Emma begged, tugging at the woman's sleeve. "It needs to come from me, but I don't really feel ready to tell him yet."

Ruby closed her eyes and rolled her head back. "I would love to be a fly on the wall for that meeting. Emma, do you realize you are the cream in the center of the delicious man cookie? What I wouldn't give for just a little nibble."

"Wait," Emma said. It dawned on her that the blissed-out look on Ruby's face was about far more than some silly fantasy. "Are you after Graham? I thought you said he was a man-whore?"

"I called him a play boy, not a man-whore," she replied defensively. "Besides, dry spell. I'll take what I can get."

Smiling to herself, Emma realized there was a lot more to that story than Ruby was willing to share. Emma sipped at her coffee watching the waitress with a little smirk, until her take-away was ready to go.

"As always, thanks for the sustenance, Ruby," she called out.

Putting down the order she was working on, she stopped Emma with a gentle pat on her arm. "No problem. And Emma. Stop worrying so much. Have a little faith. I think it's time you're owed your happy ending, don't you?"

….

It started with an itch. Right up inside his cast where he couldn't reach it. Trying to ignore it only made it worse, it seemed.

Bloody hell. He'd forgotten just what an annoyance living could be.

Killian forced his concentration back on the little picture box, gritting his teeth as he watched the antics of a drunken Jack Sparrow as he tried to fight his way past the soldiers.

It wasn't working.

Ten minutes later and the itch had spread. It was in his legs, his neck, his stomach. Only, it wasn't exactly an itch. When he closed his eyes, trying to will away the slight tremble in his muscles, he could tell he knew what it really was.

The world was just outside those windows. Even from his comfortable spot on Swan's chaise, he could see it in all its magnificent, wide open glory. It was calling to him, beckoning him after being so long apart from it.

But he had given Emma his word. She wanted him safe, and he didn't want to upset of disappoint her.

Yet his bones ached and his mind wandered and suddenly, he just couldn't sit still any more. Restlessly, he paced the kitchen, his eyes straining to see the flat of the ocean with every pass. And the itch grew.

She had told him he wasn't a prisoner. She didn't want to control him. Surely she couldn't be upset if he just took a little stroll down to the water and back. What could be the harm?

And before he knew it, he was outside.

The sun beat down upon his skin, reminding him once more how utterly glorious it was to be able to feel again. He rushed down the rocky pathway towards the beach where he had rescued Henry, feeling like he was flying. The wind was harder down towards the shore, with the little droplets of water cooling off his heated brow.

And the smell. Gods, the smell. There was absolutely nothing like it. Briny and tangy, salty and pungent. So full of life. Of freedom. He closed his eyes and breathed in, expanding his lungs as if trying to take in the entire world. This. This is what he had been missing for hundreds of years. The simple sensation of the sea on his skin.

But it was also more than that.

Having gotten his fix, he let himself wander down the beach, his feet pressing into the soft sand and leaving small indents in their wake. There was no particular direction he had in mind, no rush to go anywhere. It was true freedom, and oh! How he had missed it.

He travelled on.

It wasn't until the first of the tall masts came into view that he truly realized just how far he had walked. It seemed he had traversed the entire length of the shore until he had ended up at the docks. And he knew in his heart, he should just turn around and go straight back home.

But he couldn't.

The sight of the little sloops and yachts in the harbor made his heart swell with a feeling he hadn't experienced since he had first stepped on the H.M.S. Jolly Roger. Memories of that day assaulted him as he stood on the boardwalk and watched the bob of the hulls and the swaying forest of masts and lines.

…..

 _"What do you think, little brother? Impressed?"_

 _Killian's head jerked up, startled out of his revelry by the appearance of his older brother. He had been lost in pleasant fantasies about the ship at the end of the dock. It was still impossible for him to believe that soon he would be spending all his time aboard a ship of such splendor. Not to mention that he would be spending all of it with his brother._

 _"Younger brother," Killian replied absently, as he nodded. "And quite, Liam. The king must have great faith in you to bequeath you the captaincy of this fine a vessel."_

 _Liam puffed up with pride, the shiny medals pinned to his jacket reflecting the sun with the movement. He clapped a hand upon his shoulder and smiled. "With hard work and dedication comes reward, Killian. This commission wasn't easily earned, you know that."_

 _Catching his brother's eye for the briefest of moments, Killian blushed at the implication of his words. This last year at the naval academy had not been easy for him, and it was only his drive to make his brother proud that had kept him going. "No one is a better captain than you, Liam. The king knows this. And soon the world will, as well. Everyone will remember the name Liam Jones as the greatest captain His Majesty's Navy has ever had."_

 _There was not even a hint of falseness in his words. Killian Jones knew that his brother was the best man he had ever known. He was selfless, tireless, and loyal to a fault. (Even if he could be a bit of a stubborn ass at times.) He had practically raised Killian after the disappearance of their father, which could not have been an easy task, so it was to be expected that he had stars in his eyes when it came to his older brother._

 _Liam chuckled at Killian's over-the-top praise. "Nay, little brother. What they will remember is that the Joneses were the finest officers in the fleet and that their ship, the Jolly Roger, was the finest and fastest vessel in all the realm."_

 _"Their ship?"_

 _"Aye. Yours and mine. You have been offered a place my side, as my lieutenant."_

 _The ground suddenly felt like sand beneath his feet. He couldn't be serious, could he? All along, he had been under the impression that he was to be just another ordinary seaman, just one of the crew. Surely this had to be a joke. Who would think he was worthy of such an honor?_

 _"I…Are you serious?"_

 _"Very," Liam said, pulling out a thick scroll of papers, closed with ribbon and wax bearing the king's own seal. Killian took it from his brother with trembling hands, hardly daring to break it, just in case this all really was a dream. "What say you?" Liam continued, beaming proudly down at him. "Ready for your hero's journey? Ready to bring glory and honor to the name Jones?"_

 _Killian clutched the scroll to his chest and then, without thinking, pulled his brother in for a tight hug with his other hand. "I will follow you, Liam, until the end of the world."_

 _Liam clapped him hard, blinking back a few tears of his own, and waved his hand out. "Time to board your ship, Lieutenant Jones."_

 _His footsteps echoes down the wooden docks, but the pounding of his heart in his ears prevented him from hearing them. Nor did he register the shouts of "Officer on deck," as he ascended to the gangway. But the moment his foot touched down on the polished wood of the H.M.S. Jolly Roger, Killian Jones knew he had come home.  
….. _

"Are you alright?" A voice interrupted.

Killian jumped at the intrusion and turned to see a handsome, blue-eyed man staring at him with a look of concern.

"Aye, mate. Just a bit lost in me own head."

The man chuckled and smiled at him. "Yeah, I get that. Are you a tourist? Haven't seen you around before?" He adjusted the straps to the bag that was resting at his hip and took a step closer.

"Ah, um. No." Killian remembered Emma's warnings about people finding out about him, but knew he had to come up with something. "I've recently taken up residence just down the shore apace. Haven't had the chance to come and see the docks until now," he said easily.

The man seemed to believe him and also seemed genuinely curious about him. He must have noticed the look in Killian's eye as he watched the ships, because after a moment he asked, "Do you sail?"

"Aye, although I haven't had a chance in many years," Killian replied wistfully. The little ships bobbing along in the harbor where hardly as grand as the Jolly, but what he wouldn't give to be on one right now.

"Well, you should definitely go again," the man offered. Sitting down on the bench, he stuck out his hand. "The name's August, by the way. I work over at the shipyard." He pointed to a building down at the far end of the docks that Killian hadn't even noticed before.

"Killian Jones, at your service."

"It's nice to meet you, Jones." August smiled and sat back against the bench, taking a moment to come to some sort of decision. "Look, if you ever want to go out, just let me know. I'll be happy to arrange something."

Killian turned abruptly, surprised by the kindness of the stranger's offer. Was this normal for people in this age? Did random strangers normally perform acts of kindness for people they had just met? Or was this just some sort of pleasantry? He studied the man's blue eyes, trying to find any hint of insincerity, but found none. "I'd appreciate that, mate. And I may just take you up on that," he chuckled.

The other man smiled broadly. "No problem, man." He stood up to leave. "See you around."

Before August could get far, Killian found himself running after him, not even sure what he was doing. "Excuse me, mate. This may seem a bit forward, but…" he awkwardly scratched behind his ear "you wouldn't happen to know where I could find employment around here, would you?"

August paused, studied him, and finally nodded back. "It so happens, I do."

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